Here are three descriptions of the same woman, my love. Each is 100 words exact. I am very interested in seeing how people react to each of them. Please let me know if you picture the same woman in each of them or someone different.

My English rose is beautiful as she kneels down before me with her hands behind her back. She is completely naked save for the black dog collar around her slim neck. Her back is straight in attention as she waits for my orders. Her head is turned down in perfect subservience. I slide my fingers through her find blond hair. She keeps it in a short cut that I adore. Her bangs fall across her face partially obscuring her right eye. The only problem with her looking down is that I cannot see her entrapping light blue, almost grey, eyes.

She looks beautiful against the backdrop of the mountains even on this overcast day. Her blue and white plaid coat keeps off the mild chill. The wind lightly whips around her, stirring her short blond hair. Her hair sticks out at the sides in wild look of well planned chaos. Her bangs hang down partially hiding one eye. Her eyes have taken on a more grayish tint in the cloud filtered light instead of their usual light blue. She grants one of her rare smiles that shows off white teeth. Her round face is at its best when she smiles.

She stands in attention with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her jaw is clenched in concentration and her strong chin held forward in determination. Her blond hair is pinned to the side of her head by the black blindfold wrapped across her eyes. White rope has been tied in a chest harness that binds up her breasts. Her full breasts hang low, but the harness holds them up. Her areolas do not stand out, but her nipples are red from wearing cloths pins. Blue panties hide her sex from view. Her round ass is red from a firm spanking.

had you not told me these three descriptions were the same woman, i think i would still have picked them as the same. there are several similarities, the hair, the eyes etc in each. not enough difference of her 'character' (what makes her tick?) within each to make them stand out differently.

perhaps try writing her in three different moods... anger, love, pain - or three emotions of your own choosing. see if there are differences in her character that show through in the description.

one thing i'm noticing is the overuse of adjectives, sometimes several to describe basic subjects. a chair for example, does not need to be described as hard or, 'hard plastic chair'. the two words could perhaps be better used in the description of the character. --just a thought. when there is a limited word count, try and use the word choices in the most effective and useful way possible. of course, sometimes the adjectives are required, but in an exercise of only 100 words, each one needs careful consideration.

ps sorry to point out the chair, there are other examples throughout the thread of overuse of adjectives.

He rode tall in the saddle, dressed in his boiled leather jerkin and leather trousers tucked into clean, high riding boots. The jerkin was decorated with strips in a contrasting shade of black. His sword hung on his belt; not a decorative sword, but a working sword, one in which he had confidence. His blue eyes were constantly in movement, watching, looking, appreciating his surroundings and yet, when he spoke, he looked at you as if you were the only person of interest. His only pander to decoration was the gold filigree on the handle of his dagger.

I like that description. You managed to convey what he was wearing quite well. I'm picturing a knight riding about his property and surveying the scenory. I think you put a lot of personality into him. I would have liked a bit more physical description, but that is one of the limitations of 100 words.

The storm in his eyes broke and she felt the first gentle touches of forgiveness as the tightened muscles of his jaw began to loose their hold on a flood of commanding and demanding accusations. A proud man, he was deeply wounded by such callous betrayal; but the damage would begin to heal now and they would be one again. In time the steel line of his lips would be replaced with his warm loving smile and they would be whole. He was a proprietary man, territorial as an alpha male wolf and touching the remote had been a mistake.

A very interesting description. Not just do you convey his appearance, but tell a story of what is going on. My one real problems was putting wound and would next to each other. Nothing gramericly wrong with it, but I had to read it over to make it work in my mind.

had you not told me these three descriptions were the same woman, i think i would still have picked them as the same. there are several similarities, the hair, the eyes etc in each. not enough difference of her 'character' (what makes her tick?) within each to make them stand out differently.

perhaps try writing her in three different moods... anger, love, pain - or three emotions of your own choosing. see if there are differences in her character that show through in the description.

I am glad that you felt you could pick them out as the same person. When I right these descriptions I am aiming more for a physical description than to convey personality.

A very interesting description. Not just do you convey his appearance, but tell a story of what is going on. My one real problems was putting wound and would next to each other. Nothing gramericly wrong with it, but I had to read it over to make it work in my mind.

thanks! made a change to it

it felt a bit tongue and cheek but hey. . . there is something a bit too intimate between men and their remote controls sometimes

His grey-blue eyes peered out from beneath a large helmet and traces of a smile could be seen over his collar. The creases on such of his face that could be seen showed lines of ingrained dirt and an intelligence that could all too easily be missed. His battle-scarred weapons were covered in dust and oil. When he looked at you, his mind seemed to concentrate on just the one thing, the subject in hand. It was like a beacon in the darkness of the War. His deep gravel voice had all the diction of education marinated in military stupidity.

I am glad that you felt you could pick them out as the same person. When I right these descriptions I am aiming more for a physical description than to convey personality.

the exercises are useful for many areas of writing. i had a character who bugged the heck out of me until i wrote him in many different situations. i still feel him sitting there wait for me to 'use' him again. *smile* it helped me to get him temporarily out of my head by writing his reactions to his environment, to events that happened to him and to his loved ones. it also helped me to get to know him better. sounds strange 'getting to know him' but that's how it is for me when i write.

Quote:

Originally Posted by RyanBlack

thanks! made a change to it

it felt a bit tongue and cheek but hey. . . there is something a bit too intimate between men and their remote controls sometimes

you can say that again.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Handley_Page

His grey-blue eyes peered out from beneath a large helmet and traces of a smile could be seen over his collar. The creases on such of his face that could be seen showed lines of ingrained dirt and an intelligence that could all too easily be missed. His battle-scarred weapons were covered in dust and oil. When he looked at you, his mind seemed to concentrate on just the one thing, the subject in hand. It was like a beacon in the darkness of the War. His deep gravel voice had all the diction of education marinated in military stupidity.

this description makes me want to read more, to learn more about this man and what he is up to. well done.

She stares at me with curious eyes of azure fire.
What are you thinking little one?

Her gaze drifts, as she takes in the world. No judgments, no premonitions, no impossibilities. Every few seconds a bright spark of recognition, yet a mere flicker in contrast to the burning flame of her curiosity.

Tiny hands come together, clapping in a state of pure, innocent bliss at the wondrous world around her.

Her gaze comes back to me- and she smiles a toothless grin- leaving me to wonder at the beauty that life has to offer.

Perhaps botox vanquished every original thought from her skull. Even when she raises her vapid smile I sense nobody home.

But god she’s beautiful, exquisitely built in a gravity defying way. Tilts her head like a cute kitten when she doesn’t understand – which is always. Strips like a tiger. The only intelligence that goes in and stays in – how to pleasure a man. Naughty little bitch. Men clamour in droves when she drops to her knees.

TruantOne -- from one newbie to another, that's really a far better crafted little piece than I would expect to see as a random discussion board post. Not that the folks who post around here are any slouches -- quite the literary bunch, it seems -- but that just had spark. Funny, suggestive, concise, with real bite -- bravo.

The light that this person gives to the world illuminates even the darkest and most clouded of hearts. The heat radiating in aura's of spectral magnificence fills anyone honoured enough to set eyes on this angel among animals. Their touch is so soft and caring, overwhelmingly freeing it is enough to make the heavens weep to have lost such an enlightened beuty. As the heavens rain down salty tears, none dare touch her perfect body, for she is in control of every single atom and particle of insignificant matter in the world. She draws those from the shadows and lets them walk beside her, showing them the grace and wisdom of her years in existence, all with a mere glance or flicker of forgiveness that her exceptional glimmering eyes cast.

A small spray of jism rested on the long, jet black hair at the side of her slightly squarish face. Julia wore it as a merit badge, a sign she was not afraid of her sexuality. Not afraid to seek enjoyment wherever she found the possibility. Bright red lips bent upwards in a smile, while her tongue moved about it, slowly, savoring the taste of the stranger's cum. A quick glance behind her showed the short order cook smileing, zipping up his trousers. Perhaps Julia was flat broke, yet still seeking a decent breakfast in this small restaurant.

She lays flat on her stomach, exposing a mile of smooth, perfectly white back. Her hair is Irish red, that amazing, intense, deep red that you almost never see, wavy, long and spread over her like a fan. She is wearing a tan leopard skin bikini, tie sided, top undone. No tan lines. She lifts her head in response to my presence and flashes me a smile, then whistles and tells me I’m hot. Her eyes are the deepest brown lit with chestnut and her lips, full, peachy and exciting. She sunbathes like this, unashamedly, right next to a road and a footpath.

He was a young lion. Lean, muscled, his coat was unblemished from combat, and it was the first year his mane was thick and full and he didnt look so much like a female. He was the solitary male in his pride of 5 sisters, 2 aunts, mother, and grandmother. He was lazy, slept too much, and was a nuisance to the females. He was often the first and last to feed, and was always uninterested in how the meal came to be. When he annoyed enough of the females at the same time they joined ranks and chased him off. And when he was gone away too long, they wondered where he was.

He stands tall but guarded, his eyes sharply scan the surrounding area; where are the opposition. He adjusts his helmet, checks his gloves and tests his wrist action. He takes his guard stance, and looks down the chain towards his nemesis.
A few thumping paces and the missile is launched; in the time it takes to blink, the ball is halfway down the pitch. He looks at the four-inch missile, gauging its movement in the air and moving his wrists and shoulders for impact. There’s a loud thump and the ball is propelled down to the boundary at Third Man.

When he walks, stands, talks, moves, he's intentionally proving nothing, see, he has little sense of self promotion. But the confidence inherent in his gait, contradicts his modest motives, and pulls at the peripherals of pedestrians as they approach.

Tall. Dark. Handsome. but not the least bit cliche - one is hard pressed not to notice him leaning, with one leg bent, foot against a red-bricked bar wall, smirking sheepishly, smoking a cigarette, green eyes always looking at what's next, just over the next ridge of fresh faces; it's the future, the oh baby, the-next-good-fuck-who-to-bring-home-gotta-find-the-beauty-in-this-crowd-future, that's what's on his mind.

“When’s dinner?” he asks gruffly, a river of sweat cascading from his greasy auburn comb-over, down his pudgy cheeks, and off his triple chin.

“Ten minutes,” she replies, bile rising in her throat as a pair of meaty hands grasp her hips, yanking her close.

Her lithe body practically bounces off the enormous mass that is his stomach, and her gaze is immediately drawn to the sauce stains covering his sweatshirt. His dull brown eyes glint as his rancid breath washes over her face, his mucus-encrusted lips descending toward hers.

He stands tall but guarded, his eyes sharply scan the surrounding area; where are the opposition. He adjusts his helmet, checks his gloves and tests his wrist action. He takes his guard stance, and looks down the chain towards his nemesis.
A few thumping paces and the missile is launched; in the time it takes to blink, the ball is halfway down the pitch. He looks at the four-inch missile, gauging its movement in the air and moving his wrists and shoulders for impact. There’s a loud thump and the ball is propelled down to the boundary at Third Man.

I'm a huge cricket fan, and I love this. Perfect. Well done.

__________________Menopausal Teenager and unofficial Auntie to the AH playroom.

A grim smile graces his face each time our fingers interlace. My champion has been the only constant in my life since I first fell. I get flighty at times and leave his side but when my desire for another proves to be a vain attempt, he always embraces me with muscular, open arms. My master and I are joined at the hip and he has this delicious way of reminding me, in that gravelly tone of his, that my romantic attachment to someone else will eventually dissolve; he's very emotional that way.

He rode tall in the saddle, dressed in his decorated, boiled leather jerkin and leather trousers tucked into clean, high riding boots. The jerkin showed strong broad shoulders and a big ribcage. His sword hung on his belt; not a decorative sword, but a working sword, one in which he had confidence. His blue eyes were constantly in movement, watching, looking, appreciating his surroundings and yet, when he spoke, he looked at you as if you were the only person of interest. His only pander to decoration was the gold filigree on the handle of his long,sharp dagger.